Page 69 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

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Margaret paced across the rug, glancing every so often to the closed door leading to her husband’s rooms. After Leo had taken his leave, Margaret had allowed Fenwick to show her upstairs. While Margaret had flounced down on the bed, admiring the pale green décor and elegant furnishings, Daisy had introduced herself and bustled about the room. Tea was sent up. The sun began to set. Margaret thought of changing but didn’t. And there wasstillno sign of her husband. When Daisy asked if she’d dine downstairs or take a tray, Margaret asked for the latter. She was simply too embarrassed to dine by herself on her wedding night.

Despite Leo’s reassurance, Margaret wondered if Welles meant to return.

Her new brother-in-law’s tale of the series of events that had shaped Lord Welles had given Margaret some insight, at least in dealing with her husband’s mood and the enormous obstacle she faced in her marriage. She understood now, truly knew, what was behind his vehement dislike of the Duke of Averell, as well as the punishment Welles had devised for his father. She wondered how it was that Welles didn’t resent Leo for being the son of his father’s mistress, but as far as Margaret could tell, the two were close and had no bitterness toward each other. Welles seemed only to blame the duke for Katherine’s death.

After picking at the chicken and roasted vegetables on her dinner tray, Margaret placed her fork down, looking out the window of her rooms at the small garden behind the house. She could stay upstairs and allow this mood to fester which would lengthen the void between them, or Margaret could take action. Welles could avoid her for significant stretches of time if he chose, and regardless of the reasons for their marriage, she didn’t want to become yet another politely distant marriage of theton. Margaret had taken Leo’s words to heart as well as the small bit of honesty Welles had afforded her before the ceremony uniting them. Hehadcompromised her intentionally. And as absurd as the idea was, Welles wasjealousof Carstairs. Over her.

If what Leo had told her was true, Welles desired her and might even care for her. But Margaret would need to be careful with him. First, she had to find him.

She assumed Welles had retreated to his rooms at Elysium to brood, and that was where she was most likely to find him. Opening the armoire, Margaret brushed aside the row of dresses Daisy had neatly organized and gave a sigh of relief at the sight of her old cloak. She took it out, inhaling the moth-eaten smell, and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. Margaret would march down the stairs and ask Fenwick to have the carriage brought around. There would be no hailing a hack or sneaking out the servants’ entrance.

She was Lady Welles now.

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